Echo
by whattheydontknow
Summary: Jo Harvelle has been catapulted back into the Winchesters lives. But, as it tends to happen for the brothers, things aren't as easy as they seem. Jo has come back to them with no memory, and the three hunters are ready to do what ever the can to get it back for her. Pairings: Jo/Dean
1. Chapter 1

The job was easy. Just a simple ghost, salting and burning the bones would fix it. Too bad that was where Sam was supposed to be, salting and burning the bones. Sam Winchester had never been impeccable with timing, and unfortunately his brother was paying the price. Slamming the already dingy unstable door behind him, Dean Winchester took a second to bend over and catch his breath. "Hold it off, he said. I'll be quick, he said." he spat sourly. A loud, splintering crash sent the hunter sprawling over to the window on the opposite side of the dining in shock. The door wasn't going to hold the angry spirit for much longer, and Dean had tossed his empty rifle behind him at the front door, knowing that it was only dead weight now. He prayed to God that somewhere this bitch's bones were burning into ash. Another crash and the door was in half, Dean was whimpering like a child as he realised his fate. His stupid, pathetic fate was to die at the transparent hand of a common ghost, because his brother wouldn't push the fucking speed limit.

The glowing personification of a widow's grief floated towards him, her hand outreached. Dean flinched away and slid slightly down the counter, leaning against the cupboards. He tried to think positively, something he was never very good out except in the face of death. He thought about all the people he hoped to see in heaven. His soul was good enough for heaven, right? Surely all of his hunting demons outweighed all the deaths he'd caused? He'd get to see his Mom, his Dad, Ellen, and Jo. Oh god, he'd get to see Jo. Could you have relationships in heaven? Or do you just float around and chat with people? You're worrying about that now? He dragged his thoughts back to the present, and the glowing hand of the ghost was just inches from his face. "I'm going to die." He whispered, laughing slightly. Then, in hysteria, he yelled it out loud. "I'M GONNA DIE!"

"Not today you're not!" Dean heard the window behind him shatter, three times actually. Each pane being broken by a bullet, and a matching hole appearing in the hallway wall through the doorway. The ghost was momentarily confused. "What the hell?" Dean couldn't help but scream. "It's a fuckin' GHOST! What did you think a bullet would-?" The ghost threw it's head back, howling, before vanishing in what looked like excruciating pain. "The fuck-" Dean was more than a little confused. Slowly pulling himself up off the lino, relatively uninjured, he turned to the window, looking for his hero. "Organ donor." Dean spun around at the voice behind him. "I've been hunting this one for a while. Burnt the bones she was buried with, but her hips were missing. Did a little research, turns out she donated them to her future grandkids, knowing that her family had a history of serious hip related problems."

Dean couldn't speak. He thought he'd vanquished today's ghost already, yet here another one stood before him. The short, thin blonde woman standing in front of him glanced at him after surveying the room. "You're welcome?" She said sarcastically. Looking at his bedsheet face, recognising it, made hers break out in the biggest of shocked yet excited grins, one he had seen only a few times but cherished and missed with an immeasurable heartache. "It's you!" She squealed, swinging her rucksack off her back and onto the dining table she rummaged through it, tossing out a small handgun, few dinner knives, a pair of jeans, a jacket and a t-shirt. "Aha!" She shouted, her arm shooting into the air, her pale hand clasped tightly around a crumpled photograph. She held it up beside his dumbfounded face. Dean, still too shocked to move at all, just stared at her, but she was too excited to be crept out. Looking back and forth between the picture and his face she jumped up and down, her mouth making noises not normally associated with human beings. "It's you! Oh it is you! You're Dean Winchester!" Without thinking she closed the two foot space between them and wrapped him in a warm hug,

"Jo?" The word was hoarse, without tone out of his dry throat. He didn't return the embrace in the short time it was there. At the sound of the name she jumped back. "That's my name! Jo, Jo… Ha, Ha" She tried to push out the last name to no avail. "You know who I am, don't you? What was my last name? I've been Jane Doe for the last month, but it just doesn't fit. But now I'm Jo, Jo…" She raised her eyebrows at him. "Can you help me out here?"

The eldest Winchester just stared at her. Drinking in her presence, but at the same time wanting to run as far as he could in the opposite direction. She was really here. But, she was dead. Jo had died two years back, saving his life, as a matter of fact. "Harvelle." He managed. "Joanna Beth Harvelle."

She squealed again. "Yes! That's it! Jo Harvelle, Jo Harvelle." She tested out her name in different voices. "Jo, Jo Harvelle. Harvelle, Jo Harvelle."

Dean could barely speak, let alone string together full sentences. "You…Dead…Ellen…Hardware store…Hellhounds?" He tried to convey something along the lines of asking how the fuck she was alive. "Ellen! I knew her! I liked her didn't I? I really, really did." She looked at Dean shyly, unsure how to ask. "Were we, me and her..?" She trailed off, hoping he would connect the dots of her question. At first he was at a blank, not stringing together her sentences either. "Oh! God no! She was your mother!" He shook his head vigorously. She looked relieved. "Oh, great, 'cause honestly, I didn't really think I was, well I don't really feel-" Her sentence was interrupted by his lips crashing into hers. There was nothing professional or expert about this kiss, it was raw passion. He had missed her, his heart had ached for her for two whole years, and he didn't know how or how long she was going to be here. Real, tangible, part of this world. He was making use of the time he had been given, not caring why or what for.

At first instinct kicked in for Jo, she returned the kiss with the same amount of passion, passion she didn't know she could feel and seemed to be pulling from depths of her memory she had yet to find, which was 99% of it. After ten seconds though her train of thought came back to her and she pushed away. "What the hell?" She screamed at him, now a good few feet away. "What was that for?" Dean just kept looking at her, not saying a word. His Jo was back. His excited Jo, his angry Jo, just Jo. "Er, uh, sorry. It's just, I've missed you Jo." He offered a smile. "NOW WHERE THE HELL YOU BEEN?" He yelled at her. "I'M PRETTY SURE I WAS DEAD." She yelled right back at him, not taking any shit from the guy she could potentially call 'sexual assault' on. "Now, can you please, help me get my memory back?"


	2. Chapter 2

Jo sat down at the island bench of the kitchen. After the incident in the dining room Dean hadn't been too keen to stick around, and Jo couldn't blame 'em. "That was quite a scare back there, eh?" Dean stood on the other side of the island bench, his gaze fixated on the two tea cups in front of him as he stirred one and poured sugar into the other one. "Eh, I wasn't that scared." He spoke down at the warm liquid. Jo wasn't going to let him get away with that one for a second. "Liar! You were saying your last prayers when I saved your ass. The ass, by the way, that your brother should have been saving. Where is he? I was told you two travelled and hunted together."

"We do. I don't know. He should be here by now-" and at precisely that moment, like it tends to happen when you lead an interesting life, the front door slammed shut. Dean looked up from the tea, startled. Without looking at Jo, avoiding her gaze, he muttered "Speak of the devil." Before raising his voice to a yell and walking out of the kitchen. "Sammy! I've got, well, I've got a surprise for you!" His voice trailed off and Jo was left in the kitchen alone. She leaned over the bench and picked up one of the mugs, the one with a spoon and no sugar. She stirred it gently, as more of a pastime than a chore. She looked into the tea and thought about the past month, considering she had absolutely nothing else to think about.

Her memory was nearly blank, how do you just show up at the age of twenty-something? She didn't even know her own age. All she knew was what the angel told her. _Find the Winchesters, they can help you. Until then, trust your instincts._ She'd liked the angel, and was sad when he left her. She felt she knew him, his trenchcoat, his formal speech, his blue eyes, from somewhere, but she'd doubted she'd know for sure about any of these feelings until she found the Winchesters. He'd given her a photo, a change of clothes and an address for a weaponry stash. From there she had been on her own.

From down the hall Jo could her muffled voices, one a lot quieter and calmer than the other. After a minute there was silence, and Jo wanted to call out to see if everything was okay. Before she could though, a sliver of a figure peeped through the doorway, like a child trying to eavesdrop. The figure was a good few inches too tall to be Dean. "Sam?" She called hesitantly at the figure, feeling her visual disadvantage like ice cubes running down her back. The figure came into the light and running right at her. His large build swept up her slight one in an instant and she was wrapped in a warm hug, almost suffocating hug that lifted her off her feet. "JO!" Sam yelled over her shoulder as he spun her around.

"Put me down, Winchester." She kicked softly at his shins until he let her go. He set her down in a way that made her feel like the annoying fragile doll she looked like, but certainly wasn't. "Fiery little Harvelle, I guess nothing's changed. I knew you couldn't forget about us, especially not Dean." Jo opened her mouth and took a breath, preparing to burst his bubble and give him the truth. Thankfully Dean had appeared at the door, having retrieved his rifle from the front yard. "Hey!" She shouted possessively at him. "That's mine!" She quickly made the space between them and snatched the weapon from his hand into her own, grabbing the handle with her right hand and holding the barrel with her left like she'd never lived to do anything else.

The second the familiar object brushed her fingertips a wave of memories passed over her. A woman with wavy brown hair in a purple shirt with a black leather jacket and blue jeans. Running away from invisible danger, helping a friend, getting hurt, holding a fuse, saying goodbye, saying I love you, the warmth of a loved one next to her, guarding her, as the world she'd known fell away from her, overtaken by a fuzzy, dizzying blackness. Jo dropped the gun like a hot poker. Tears rose to her eyes, old wounds viciously torn open. Her breath became ragged as she fought to keep it flowing in and out. Hot, salty liquid fell out of her eyes, some sliding slowly down her cheek, to her chin and annoyingly down her neck, others falling right to the ground. "Mommy!" She whimpered, her shaking legs no longer motivated to carry her dead weight as she crumpled to the floor, curling into a ball, so not even Dean could reach her.


	3. Chapter 3

After Jo's crying fit she'd gotten up calmly and pretended like it didn't happen, receding back into a numb, "act as if nothing is wrong and then nothing will be wrong" sort of denial. "To your motel" Was the only form of direction she gave to the Winchester brothers, both of whom saw no reason to disagree. When Dean, noticing her empty hands and only the small handgun to the waist of her jeans, asked her about the whereabouts of her rifle, she didn't reply, the ends of her lips curling down and her shoulders curving in slightly. Dean figured the weapon was just a sore memory for her, to put it lightly. He had dropped back to pick it up anyway, having a feeling that she'd want it back eventually.

Now, in the Impala, with his gaze not leaving the stone-faced blonde riding a motorcycle in the rear view mirror, Dean was the first to break the silence. "Am I the only one wondering what the hell we do next?" His brother was concentrating on the road, like the safe driver he was, and didn't appear to hear him. "Sammy?" Dean clicked his fingers in front of his brother's eyes. "Hmm? Yeah, sorry, just a little tired. What were you saying?" Dean's gaze returned to the rear view mirror again, but Jo looked like she hadn't moved a muscle. Not that Dean could see much of her face in her blinding headlights, but he saw enough. "I mean, do we call Cas? Get him to do a little angel mojo, but then what? We can't send her to Bobby, we can't send her to the Roadhouse. Where does she go?"

"Have you ever considered, oh, I don't know, what JO wants to do? I mean, I'm no expert, but I doubt she really wants to go and live the apple pie life. Maybe, still just shooting in the dark, she wants to go back to what she was doing before she died, hunting?" The sarcasm in Sam's voice was sickening, and Dean gave him a look that could have peeled paint off walls. "No."

"Why not?"

"You know why not, Sam. It got her killed last time."

"You think you can stop her? That's Jo out there, man. Whether she remembers it or not." Sam finished.

"I know, I just-" Dean struggled, trying to find the words to convey what was spinning around in his head. Images of Carthage, Jo running over to his rescue, and then bleeding out on the floor of some dingy hardware store flooded his vision whilst a soundtracks of her screaming, her flesh tearing, the hounds growling and the building going up bled into one another until Dean could barely hear Sam calling his name from miles away. He shook his head vigorously as Sam's voice got closer and Carthage died away. "I couldn't do it again Sam. I couldn't lose her again. It's just not an option." Was all he could muster up. Sam caught the tone in his voice and fell silent. He knew that Dean and Jo had had chemistry when they first met up, and Dean had hit on her once or twice, but he had no idea that Dean's feelings for the blonde hunter ran that deep. Hell, he was pretty sure his feelings for Lisa hadn't run as deep as it seemed they did for Jo. This was going to be interesting to observe, and Sam couldn't help but wonder if maybe this was a way for Dean to get a sort of happy ending. I mean, Jo was a hunter, so she could hold her own and definitely prove to be more than bait if she tagged along with the brothers, and she matched Dean perfectly, gentle where he was strong, forgiving and restraining when he would take it too far. Maybe this was happiness for Dean. Granted they got her memory back, she hadn't gotten over her crush in her time in heaven, and she wasn't dragged right back there once the angels found her. Sam thought about this for a second; maybe Dean's happy ending wasn't going to be that simple after all.

The silence between the brothers had turned awkward, so Sam reached out and twisted the knob on the radio, playing whatever was already in the Caset player. REO Speedwagon came blaring through the speakers, and Sam's hand went back to the player to turn it down. Dean raised his hand to stop him. "Turn it up. Might spur up some better memories for Dory back there." Sam cocked his head to the side, but obliged.

They took the next turn-off as REO blasted through the speakers. A few streets and songs later they pulled into a rather decent motel for their standards. Jo pulled her Harley up next to the Impala. Pulling her helmet off her head and shaking out her blonde locks, she tilted her head towards the '67 as the brothers began to file out. "REO Speedwagon? Really?" She spoke in a condescending tone. From the passenger's side Dean called over the car as he was getting out. "Damn right REO. Kevin Cronin sings it from the heart." He spoke almost mockingly, and Jo thought maybe he'd had the same conversation with someone else in another time. "He sings it from the hair." She chortled, "there's a difference." She slid off the seat and popped it open, putting her helmet inside before slamming it shut again. She paused, her hands still on the leather of her seat. The words that passed between them felt out of place, like when you uncross your arms and cross them again but can't quite fit them back together in the same way. She discarded the feeling and began to trudge across the nearly full car park, feeling the lethargy settling in on her muscles and mind.

Dean closed the Impala door and, alongside Sam, followed Jo towards the motel lobby. "That's not Jo, man." The oldest brother replied worryingly, shaking his head. Sam just laughed, and they both ran to catch up with Jo.


	4. Chapter 4

"Alrighty then." Sam and Dean Winchester had been leaning against the plain, off-white walls of the motel reception when Jo made her way back to them from the from the front desk. "They're out of rooms, so I guess I'm bunking in with you guys for the night." She blew out a quick, steady breath and looked up at the brothers, raising an eyebrow, daring them to the disagree. Dean took her up on the dare, screwing his eyebrows in confusion. "But there's another motel just next door?" He asked her, almost sarcastically, seeing he had won this very minute argument. Jo's gaze held briefly as she tried to form a reasonable excuse to his logical question. Then it dropped, and out stumbled the truth. "Well, I-I." She exhaled again, this time her breath more pressured. "I, don't really want to, you know, want to be alone right, right now." She fiddled with the hem of her undershirt that peeked out. Dean could see how much effort it took to spit out that one mess of a sentence. "Right, don't worry. Actually it's probably better if you stick with us anyway, you know, just in case we haven't quite got the spirit of Old Man Fugly yet." It was a lie, all three of the hunters knew it, but Jo smiled gratefully, and Dean's heart leapt to see a familiar playful spark light up in the young girl's eyes. "Oh! 'Course." She giggled softly.

Sam watched the exchange and couldn't help a small smile appearing on his lips. He could really see the love that the two could potentially share in the future. Back when Dean was sour with grief, and Jo with patronization, their conversations, though still brimming with chemistry, were much, for lack of a better word, meaner, neither giving the other the time of day. Now, with their chains long broken behind them, they just seemed to fit. "I'll lead the way then." He chippered. Walking between them, he pushed open the door and began the walk to their motel room, thrilled to see Dean holding the door open for Jo in the rear view mirror of a parked car.

Sam should have known that the pleasant atmosphere between the two hunters couldn't last. The minute they followed him into the room the bickering began.

"I'll take the floor." Jo stated casually, tossing her rucksack off her shoulders and onto the empty floor space at the end of the beds. "What? No." Dean started. "The bed's yours, I'm sleepin' rough tonight." Jo cocked her head as she turned to face the older Winchester. "Why? It's your room, you paid for it." She replied.

"Because you're the girl. That's just how it works." He snapped. Jo's eyes narrowed into slits, and both Winchesters felt and fought the urge to cower in fear at the uncanny resemblance her expression had to one Ellen Harvelle had used way too often on anyone and everyone at some point in their relationship with the fiercely protective woman. "Okay, I'm going to ignore that sexist comment and hit the hay." She seethed. "Tomorrow morning, if you're done with being an ass, Dean, we should get to working out how I played Jesus and how to get my memory back."

Dean, albeit reluctantly, trudged over to the bed closest to the door, fatigue surpassing his stubbornness. Sam stood between both beds. "You know, Jo." He tried half-heartedly. "You should really-"

"Sam? Just don't."

Sam didn't need another word. Without speaking, Jo picked up her bag again and headed to the bathroom to change, resolving that she'd take a shower in the morning, too tired for tonight. After changing into an old, plain t-shirt and leggings, she left the bathroom and threw her bag back to the ground. The boys had already gone to bed, and whilst Sam still had a small light on and was awake reading, Dean had turned off the overhead lights and fallen to sleep. Walking over to the closet next to the door she retrieved a blanket and laid down on her side, curling in her legs and crossing her arms over her chest. She slept naturally like this, but she suspected it hadn't always been this way. That it was different now.

Now that she was still, that she had nothing else to think about, nothing else to busy her mind with, her head returned to the faded echo of her mother, and she felt a million different kinds of grief roll over her. She thought that it must feel worse than if she could remember all of it. She felt like she was running into a wall, desperately trying to breaking through it, just to remember her. She cried silently for what she remembered, and harder for what she didn't. She felt that nothing she felt was enough, because she couldn't grieve properly for something she couldn't remember. Eventually, she cried herself into a slumber.

As she slept, images of Carthage clouded Jo's subconscious, just as it had clouded Dean's earlier. The brunette from earlier, Meg, she remembered her name to be now, stood with one foot tucked next to the other, almost as if she was about to turn around, or she was leaning against a doorframe. Jo could see Dean in front of her, talking to Meg, whom she knew now to be a demon now as well. Then there was growling, Hell hounds, and running. She felt her chest grow tight as Dean yelped. She turned back instinctively to come to his aid, despite his urgings for her to keep running. He fired shots, some even hit the invisible beast. Then she turned, and it hit her. The hellhound tore through her skin like tissue paper, and her own screaming bled into her mother's as strong arms picked her up.

The doors of the hardware store burst open, and the rest of the scene was a blur of pointless talking and arguing that inevitably ended with her finger on the trigger, the memory of Dean's lips on hers the last sense she felt. Her mother sat down next to her, and they exchanged their last words; pathetic little words that did nothing to express what they knew the other was feeling. Then Jo's gaze faded to black, but she still felt the explosion make quick work of the mess of bones, blood and guts that was her body. Then there was nothing.


	5. Chapter 5

Jo woke up on her back, in a sweat, the blanket she had fallen asleep clinging to long discarded at her feet. She covered her mouth to muffle her uncontrollable sobbing, not wanting to wake either of the brothers, but especially Dean. She didn't know if it had been the same before she died, but she constantly felt like she had something to prove to the man, she didn't feel good enough, strong enough. Crying wasn't strong, not to Jo. She turned on her side in another attempt to control the near wailing. That's when she heard movement behind her. She felt his arms snake around her waist, and recognised him instantly. She froze at first, and Dean put his chin over her shoulder, and Jo burst into tears once more, shaking uncontrollably. She turned to face him, and brown eyes met green. _Stop crying, stop crying_. She spat internally, and yet the tears kept coming. They looked into each other for god knows how long, reading each other, knowing each other, before their lips met. This kiss was tender, as Jo tried to hold onto what was real, trying to push all thoughts of Carthage out of her head, getting lost in Dean, and only Dean. His rough, calloused hands slid under her shirt and skated gently up and down her back. Jo wrapped her arms around his neck and her hands seemed to get lost in his short hair. Eventually they broke apart when Jo's sobs became too much to keep going, and she simply lay her head against his chest, still shaking with grief. Dean only cling to her tighter, whispering for her to sleep. And eventually she did, in his warm arms she slept for the few hours left until dawn.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean woke up alone, cold and aching from sleeping on the thin carpet of the hotel room. He stood up and stretched, walking around his bed to pick up a shirt and pull on some jeans. Eyeing the bed itself, he noticed it's vacancy and looked around, doing a quick scan of the room. Only Sam's sleeping form, no Jo. Fear gripped around his heart and he ran into the bathroom. Empty as it was, he ran to the front door, swinging it open with a loud bang as it bounced off the wall. He let out a sigh of relief as he saw Jo's small figure perched on her bike. As he walked over, he couldn't help but smile at her beauty, all thoughts of scolding her for not leaving a note draining from his mind. He was mesmerized as the sun caught on her golden locks that cascaded over her face as she sipped gently at her coffee. She suddenly looked up, smiling at the man coming towards her.

"Hey." She spoke with a low voice, flicking her hair out of her face with two fingers.

"Hey." He replied, walking over to the Impala and leaning up against it. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he squinted in the morning sun. Jo turned away from the Winchester. "I woke up in your bed this morning." She started. He could only nod in agreement, it was the truth after all. "You put me there. In the night you moved me." He nodded again, and Jo couldn't help but get a little frustrated at his silence. She turned to face him, hoping he would finally catch on if she spelt it out for him. "After I specifically said that I'd take the floor. I didn't pay my keep, so I got the worse end of the deal. That's fair."

Dean looked her in the eye. "You needed it more than me."

Jo, surprisingly, was the first to drop her gaze. "I felt safer with you." She said, so quietly Dean thought maybe it was his imagination. After a long moment of almost awkward silence, Jo stood up, her coffee in one hand. "Well, I'm gonna head back and get ready to head to...well, wherever you guys wanted to head next. I'm assuming we have a base somewhere." She shrugged her shoulders and switched the hot coffee from one hand to the other, eager to warm her cold, numb skin. She began to walk off, when Dean called after her. "Wait, that's it?" Dean's voice showed genuine question, not the half-assed sarcasm that seemed to occupy his every word. Jo froze, turning around slowly. She knew what was coming. Unfortunately she wouldn't be able to forget last nights antics as quickly as she wanted to. "Yeah, yeah it is." She replied in a flat voice that signalled that she really didn't want to talk about it. But so what if she didn't? He did.

"So, we're not going to talk about last night? At all?" Dean's voice was edged with anger, seeing the tables turn and Jo being offered the upper hand. "No, we're not. It was nothing." The woman brushed it off her shoulder, not meeting Dean's eyes. The Harvelle's voice was harsh in the Winchester's ears. "Sure didn't feel like nothing." He snipped, his pride getting in the way of his better judgement. Jo paused, wondering whether now was the time to just ignore him, pretend she didn't hear his last remark and just leave it. But her own pride and her coffee-drugged state of mind got caught up in each other, and she looked up at him, her eyes now ablaze with anger. "Okay, you're right. It wasn't nothing. What it was was comfort. Nothing else." She could see the spark behind Dean's green eyes die slightly, and his features turned crestfallen. Instead of softening her mood, as was probably the desired effect, it only served to fuel her anger-filled flame into a raging inferno. "No." She spat. "You don't get to pull the sympathy card here. I'm the amnesiac, I'm the newbie. You can't put me to blame here, that's not fair." She spun on her heel and began to walk quickly back to the motel room. But Dean wasn't finished, he tailed her whilst yelling.

"Well, what else am I supposed to do? What we had last night was not nothing! And now you tell me to forget it? Who else am I to blame?" Dean's face was now caught in a scowl. The blonde had reached the door and had her hand poised around the handle. "Jo don't you dare open that door, I'm not finished with you." At his commanding, dominating tone, Jo whirled around. "Don't tell me what to do! I'm my own person! Or an echo of one, at least." Jo's eyes dropped to the floor as she realised that in her yelling, the truth had come out. That was it. She hadn't meant to, but suddenly she'd shone a light for Dean on what her problem was. "That's it isn't it? You don't think you're Jo, not really." He'd hit the nerve. Jo continued to fixate on the wood, but spoke loudly all the same.

"You're in love with Jo. Don't deny it, I can see it your eyes. And I'm JO, sure. But the thing is, up until six hours ago I didn't even know that. I'm grieving a mother who I can't even remember the middle name of. I can't feel any of the grief, any of the pain that I should because I just can't remember. I should be in so much pain that I don't want to live anymore. That if a car came at me I wouldn't jump out of the way. Jo would be suicidal right now. You'd have to lock all your little toys up at night and hide the key just so she wouldn't put an end to her misery whilst you weren't looking. Mom deserved that, I know she did. Her death deserved to be recognised in that pain. But I don't feel any of it!" She was screaming now, her eyes snapping up from the ground. "I would jump out of the way of that car! If you gave me a gun you could be certain I'd waste a ghost before I wasted myself! Because I don't feel it! I can't! Because of this stupid disease!" She stomped at the ground, twisting her face away, refusing to let him see her cry again, but he could see the water staining the floorboards. "She loved you too! And I don't! I'm not her! Is that so hard to understand?"

Jo's anger began to dissipate, and she took deep breathes. She gathered the strength and composure to look at Dean, and she nearly broke to see that his eyes had also filled with tears. "Until I get my memory back, you're going to have to treat me like a whole other person. It's just" She breathed in and out shakily, laughing slightly at how chick flick the next bit wass going to sound, but unable to find another way to phrase it. "It's just gonna be easier for both of us. No more…"last nights"." Jo looked away again, sniffled, and wiped her eyes, getting ready to face Sam, preparing her excuse, knowing full well just how thin the walls of the motel were; how much he'd probably heard. She turned around, her hand falling back to the brass doorknob. Her senses became hyperconscious as she felt Dean's gaze, no, stare on the back of her neck. Suddenly the brass felt cooler; the air crisper on her red, numb cheeks. She could her the trucks rolling along the highway half a mile behind her, roaring like she was inches from becoming roadkill. The light blue of the door she kept her eyes trained upon appeared technicoloured as she faltered. But, most of all, she could feel Dean's warm breath on her neck.

She turned around to face him, her face a mask of impatience and bore. Dean's green eyes drilled into her brown as he spoke. "You and I never dated. Not once." Jo held her breath, but didn't gasp or dare to speak. It was a surprise sure, I mean she had assumed… But why was he telling her this? "I hit on you once, you turned me down. The first time we met you held a rifle to my back and then punched me in the face. We kissed once, and you were dying." Jo remembered her voice and tried to sound casual, "Your point?" Jo tried not to register her subconscious guessing the distance between them as they stood nose to nose. "My point is that you never told me you loved me, and vice versa. Yet you felt this." He gestured between them. "And you took a guess. You thought about what you felt, and you assumed that we must have been together. You feel it too. You're very much Jo, memories or not."

They paused for a moment. And Dean thought maybe his speech had worked, maybe he and Jo had a chance. But then the moment was gone and reality came back into play. Jo looked away from his eyes again, and Dean looked for words to make her stay, but found himself maxed out of chick flick moments. Jo turned carefully in the small space between Dean and the door, and slid it open.

Smartly, Sam was playing dead on his bed across the room, and Jo knew that Sam was also smart enough to not bring this up when he 'awoke'.


End file.
